


Dazed and Confused

by RisingEmpress



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: #JustFuckMeUp Fest, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Drugged Will Graham, Dubious Consent, Edging, Hannibal Lecter Loves Will Graham, Hannibal Lecter is the Chesapeake Ripper, M/M, Mild Gore, Multiple Orgasms, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Non-Consensual Touching, Overstimulation, Prostate Massage, Service Top, The Murder SuitTM, The Tube SceneTM, Will Graham Has Encephalitis, just fuck me up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-07
Updated: 2020-04-07
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:14:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23527483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RisingEmpress/pseuds/RisingEmpress
Summary: Planting evidence with a happy ending.
Relationships: Will Graham & Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 27
Kudos: 239
Collections: Just Fuck Me Up 2020, non-con hannigram





	Dazed and Confused

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings are in the tags.  
> Thank you for reading, and let me know what you think!

It should be physically impossible. The hefty amount of Hannibal’s signature cocktail of mixed sedatives pumping through Will’s veins at the height of his encephalitis shouldn’t spur a reaction like this. Not that Hannibal could or would object to the sight of Will’s tented underwear and the delicate sounds of jagged breaths.

Hannibal takes a moment to observe whilst preparing their surrogate daughter’s severed ear to be swallowed. Will remains seated in the chair, eyes glazed and useless muscles fighting to keep his head up. He cranes his neck and slowly looks up to meet Hannibal’s eyes and there’s a hint of that lucid, perceptive profiler somewhere in that haze, but not close enough to scratch the surface.

It’s not as much wanting to wake him than it is to test him that Hannibal clears his throat and waits for a nonexistent response before speaking.

“Will.”

Hannibal would applaud Will’s relentless eye contact if it would make a difference. Instead he runs his fingers over Abigail’s earlobe before giving Will a supposedly sobering slap across the face.

The reaction is barely there and prolonged. A few seconds pass before Will turns his head away and frowns, and then the attention returns to his arousal. Although his hands are perfectly fine and free they hang limply by his sides, clearly unable to give himself some relief.

Hannibal takes another moment to simply appreciate.

The soft whimpers and rustling of fabric rubbing together as Will squirms in the chair is like music to Hannibal’s ears; the rarest of symphonies to be the anthem of such a rare occasion. Somewhere along the lines of Will’s encephalitis and clarity Hannibal had suspected this was the route he would be forced to take to spare not only his own freedom but Will’s life.

That wasn’t to say it was any less painful.

In an unsuspected stab of adoration and apology Hannibal finds himself stroking Will’s cheek with gloved fingers as he readies the tube, and even though it takes a minute, Will responds by leaning his head towards the touch.

Physical communication it is; positive or negative. Will was just coherent enough to register the difference, and Hannibal briefly finds that unfortunate on Will’s behalf before he’s positioning himself behind the chair, tilting Will’s head back and slipping the tube between his lips. He’d urge him to swallow to make the descent more manageable, but since words had lost all meaning there was little he could offer besides determination and dexterity.

Will’s arousal seems to dwindle when the quest for air becomes more crucial, although the gag reflexes are as subdued as everything else; barely activating as the wide plastic tube passes the uvula. Rather than brushing past slick and delicate tissue with caution, Hannibal angles the tube up and along the soft palate before forward again, sliding past the larynx which gives a positive twitch and down the esophagus. A prominent and pressing presence or feathery light, Will wouldn’t know the difference, but there was something bittersweet about the simplicity of the procedure.

Hard work deserves a reaction.

Determination kicks in once the tube becomes a liability on the airways, and Hannibal speeds up the journey down the stomach, giving one last fond squeeze to Abigail’s ear before pressing it down the tube. Will’s throat spasms ever so lightly, neck jerking back against Hannibal’s hips and as delightful as that is he wishes he could see Will’s face more clearly. The sweat soaked dark curls stick to his forehead and Hannibal’s plastic suit, but he does get a swift view of bare thighs trembling and twitching for relief.

Hannibal runs his fingers through Will’s hair, behind his ears and along his throat in both a gesture of comfort and for his own pleasure. Once he’s confident the ear is far down enough to stay he mindfully retreats the tube back up and out.

Air awakens Will’s sedated body, leaving him gasping and nearly falling off the chair. He hunches forward, panting and whining as a kicked dog. Hannibal isn’t truly aware of how hurriedly he puts the tools down to then kneel in front of the chair, stroking through Will’s damp hair and over his cheek.

Will leans into the touch again. Depending on it. The panting slowly subsides as he quite aggressively nuzzles at Hannibal’s gloved palm.

Perhaps it’s pity for how Will wouldn’t understand if Hannibal tried to explain that he keeps petting him, tracing his eyebrow with a fingertip and down his temple as he checks his pulse with one hand on his chest. Will is fighting with all his strength to raise a finger or an eyelid, but he’s breathing normally and conscious enough for his erection to become blatant and unavoidable, undoubtedly pulsating for attention and creating a wet spot along the fabric.

So full of surprises.

There’s no prolonged reaction when Hannibal’s hands drop to nudge Will’s thighs apart and give a heavy handed caress between his legs. Right on queue his hips jerk up, twitching excitedly in Hannibal’s hand and letting out a small moan between labored breaths. The conductor of such a heavenly symphony, releasing uncontrollable whimpers and agreeable moans as Hannibal frees his erection from his underwear, slowly stroking from the base and upward, again and again.

Will’s muscles are liquid. He lets out a long sigh of relief as Hannibal presses him back into the chair to relax, keeping him steady with a hand on his hip.

It’s fairly obvious that it’s been a long time since anyone touched him like this. Or even Will himself. Too wrapped up in death and murder to indulge in simple bodily pleasures. What discomfort The Chesapeake Ripper has caused him. The words linger on Hannibal’s tongue.

_Let me help you now._

Climax is closer than Hannibal would’ve thought, and something urges him to suddenly let go. He doesn’t want it to be over just yet. With a sigh he pushes his hands up under Will’s shirt to caress his hips as they begin to squirm and the soft whines and whimpers return. Will wasn’t a man to ask for much, or anything at all. Especially not from Hannibal, and certainly not anything remotely like this.

Needless to say, Hannibal wanted to bask in this moment until sanity finally took claim of his actions.

He looks up to meet Will’s stirring gaze. Confused, beseeching. A desperate speech longs to be voiced, but nothing but heavy breaths take its place. Hannibal tilts his head to the side in an amused gesture, slowly running his hand down to wrap around Will’s cock again.

It earns him a small but desperate whimper, one that causes blood to rush down Hannibal’s body in excitement. He keeps a tight presence around Will’s cock, indulging in hastily speeding up his movements. He studies Will’s expression; the concentrated frown and breath picking up before faulting. Hannibal lets go again.

If only Will could see sexual expression as something other than means to an end or a tool of manipulation, perhaps Hannibal wouldn’t feel the desire to drag this experience out. He imagines what part sex played in Will’s life growing up.

Will’s constant dispassionate and apathetic view of other people surely must have made a sexual connection difficult, if not undesirable. Hannibal imagines once Will was to explore those grounds with another person his expectations must have been let down; for a man who understands violence so deeply would certainly feel unfulfilled in a traditional romantic scenario. Or maybe that was just what Hannibal wanted to believe.

Will was becoming the Copycat Killer. The evidence would be pristine and compelling. Will Graham will finally lose his mind and go on a killing spree. A vicious murderer was blooming, but in this moment his gaze stirs, hips squirming in desperation as he groggily lifts his head to meet Hannibal’s eyes.

Pure confusion. Warmth spreads across Hannibal’s chest in a tender feeling worthless to feel. He doesn’t want to predict their future, or he doesn’t dare. All he knows with certainty is tears of frustration are starting to gather in Will’s eyes, so Hannibal relents and flashes a sympathetic or sadistic smile as he takes Will’s length in his hand again.

It barely takes three slow and firm strokes to bring Will to orgasm; twitching and thrusting desperately into Hannibal’s gloved fist. His load hits Hannibal’s plastic suit as well as runs down his overstimulated cock and pools beneath him. It must’ve been months since he had relief like this, and the good doctor fully intends on taking advantage. For both of their sake.

Even if Hannibal had wanted to, he was thoroughly incapable of tearing himself away. Will was utterly spent; panting heavily and slowly swaying back and forth. He remains hard as Hannibal toys with him; tending to every inch with the knowledge another opportunity was nowhere in the near future. Whenever his fingers reach the sensitive head it earns him a distressed whimper, and Hannibal finds himself aching for a release of his own. However, it would be both reckless and unnecessarily tasteless.

The second orgasm would need more time or stimulation. Hannibal chooses the latter and focuses the pressure around the head, coating latex fingers in come before pressing them between Will’s cheeks. He intends on merely circling the hole with his middle finger but it only takes minimal pressure for him to slide right in. Will is lax and wrapped up in a fog of pleasure, and Hannibal’s affection has never been more fierce.

It’s somewhat of an awkward position; Hannibal’s right wrist fighting against boxers and twitching thighs to reach deep inside. With some encouraging strokes to Will’s swollen and glistening cock, he’s mindlessly squirming to help Hannibal reach his target. Hannibal’s chest stings.

He’s playing an instrument. One so rare he dares not take his eyes off it, wouldn’t dream of letting go. Not when all he has to do to produce sound is curl the buried digit or squeeze. He’s overcome with the desire to taste. Sweat, blood or come. Anything to digest and stay a part of him before they say their goodbyes.

Hannibal’s gaze never drops from Will’s face as he pushes him to climax again. It’s not as intense, but long. Will’s hips keep moving at a slow pace; fucking himself on and into Hannibal’s hand for a good half a minute before beginning to release the smallest sounds of pain. 

Reluctantly, Hannibal slowly lets go and watches Will’s half hard cock twitch every time he teasingly brushes past his prostate. He carefully pulls out only to slide back in again, hitting the spot with almost a delusional intent on leaving a mark or a memory. As relaxed and willing his body is to the intrusion, Will’s distress is plain obvious. He hisses something close to a word and uses all his strength to shake his head, although it’s more of a slow sway.

Hannibal gives a small nod in agreement —suddenly yearning for that Will Graham wit and sharp tongue— and leaves him to recover in a daze as he stands up on shaky limbs to pull the gloves off. Once sanity struck him, the realization of its dullness was both sobering and saddening.

“I should think it’s time for a walk.”

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi on Twitter @ mikkelsmads.


End file.
